


how the pieces fit

by 2pork



Category: Produce 101 (TV), Wanna One (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-02-13 17:21:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 5,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12988797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2pork/pseuds/2pork
Summary: The moments that make up a life are as precious as they are fleeting.(a drabble collection)15: “You're thirty years too late to be scaring me with a worm, you decrepit fossil,” Jihoon grumbles.





	1. 2park, canon compliant

It's going into the early hours of dawn, and Jihoon has been playing this game for ages. but there’s no schedule tomorrow and everyone’s already sound asleep, so he feels like sitting sideways on the couch, legs stretched across the length of it, isn’t disturbing anyone.

Except apparently not everyone is asleep, because there’s suddenly a dark creature looming behind him. Just standing there, not speaking. Not wanting to get dragged into a battle of wills, Jihoon heaves a long-suffering sigh and decides to ask, “Hey, it’s getting creepy, Woojin-ah. Do you want something?”

Woojin clicks his tongue, hands on his hips while his face goes through multiple expressions. He settles for discontent. What follows is something that Jihoon rarely sees, something that Jihoon is more likely to get from other members than from Woojin because apparently men from Busan don’t Ask For Comfort. (The rest of the Busan line beg to disagree.) 

So when Woojin opens his arms wordlessly, lips jutting out into a pout, Jihoon gets up and steps into them, wrapping his arms around the other’s waist. He nuzzles his nose into Woojin’s shoulder as he is slowly enclosed in those arms, the two of them basking in each other’s presence. It’s like being bundled in piles of thick blankets, the first sip of cocoa warming a path down his throat. Hugs with Woojin feel like home.

Jihoon grips the back of Woojin’s shirt, mumbling a muffled, “What’s wrong?” There’s a gentle pressure at the side of his head, where he knows Woojin just laid a kiss.

“Pay more attention to me today,” Woojin says, his voice roughened by sleep. His arms tighten around Jihoon almost painfully, but it’s not the kind of pain Jihoon can feel with his body. 

He tries to get some wriggle room to plant a chaste peck on the Woojin’s neck, and another on his jaw. He gets enough space to kiss Woojin’s cheek and the corner of his lips. “You’ll regret asking for this,” he warns before pressing their lips together briefly. They part, noses just barely grazing, and Jihoon feels more than sees Woojin grinning against his mouth, breathes in the confident, “I never do,” that Woojin kisses onto his lips.


	2. jinhwi, soulmates

Jinyoung’s world ended with a quiet snick of the door. 

At least, that was what it felt like as his mother took his fingers (small, weak, incapable of holding onto anything) into her own. Their joined hands were cold, just like the winter breeze coiling around them, but his mother pulled him in until he’s tucked inside her thick woolen coat. Slowly they walk down the path, away from the house, away from the only life Jinyoung knew, with only a suitcase rolling noisily behind them to prove they had ever lived it. The space where Jinyoung’s father would have walked was heart-breakingly empty. 

This was how Jinyoung’s world ended. 

From the corner of his vision, he saw a tuft of hair peeking from a second-floor window and knew that Daehwi was watching them leave. He didn’t even get to say goodbye. Jinyoung stole glances as his mother ushered him down the street, "hurry," and "don’t look back," unspoken but apparent in her tight grip around his shoulders. 

He settled for a quiet farewell. To his father, their house, and Daehwi. 

"It’ll be okay," he hears his mother say, but there is something in her voice that’s unfamiliar to him. (Later in life, he will learn that it’s misery, grief.) "You’ll see him again. We’ll come back one day." 

Jinyoung clutched at her coat tighter, heartened by the promise. 

It wasn’t the first time his mother had lied to him, and it wouldn’t be the last. 

-

They met up with a man in a dark suit, wearing dark sunglasses that revealed as little as the neutral line of his mouth. He spoke only once, but it was enough to make Jinyoung’s mother draw back her shoulders until she was bigger than she’d ever been. Her grip on Jinyoung became iron, and he couldn’t see her face when she said, "Take us to my father."

Jinyoung barely had time to be confused as they were led to a nondescript black sedan and driven away. His mother remained silent, not even glancing at Jinyoung when he squirmed to free himself and scooted closer to the window. Hours passed, and the quiet and exhaustion lulled him to slumber. 

When Jinyoung next woke, the world around him had turned gray.


	3. jinhwi, high school

A small white ball rolls to a stuttering halt at Daehwi’s feet and he stares at it blankly.  _What am I supposed to do with this?_  he asks himself as he bends down to pick it up. The ball is barely in his hands a couple of seconds when he notices the shadow of someone jogging to a stop in front of him, and as Daehwi unfolds, so does this vision of a boy, tall and lean, wearing a baseball cap that covers his eyes. 

There’s something exceedingly romantic about him standing against the sun, the way his head is lowered so that Daehwi can’t see even the set of his mouth under the brim of his cap. Daehwi’s hands itch to write, to press the black and white keys that will bring this moment to life in his ears. 

The boy raises his head, just enough to make eye contact, and wow.  _That face._  “Hey, uh,” he says, gaze flicking to the side uneasily. “Can I have the ball back?” 

“The ball?” Daehwi looks down at the object in his hand and grimaces. “Oh, of course! Sorry, I should’ve realized!” He hands back the baseball with a sheepish smile, and feels a bit reassured by the tiny, amused quirk of the other’s mouth. 

“It’s okay. Thanks for picking it up,” the boy says, before turning on his heel and running back to where his teammates have given up practicing to watch them with avid fascination. 

Daehwi covers his face as he sprints away from them, but he decides it might not be so bad to pass by again some other time.


	4. 2park, disbandment

1. 

It’s a love story.

It’s a love story, but not the kind that Jihoon wants, not the kind that he asks for, not the kind that has him in it. Woojin loves him, probably. And he loves Daehwi, and Youngmin-hyung, and Donghyun-hyung, and Jinyoung, Guanlin, and the hyungs.

It’s a love story, and the only one in love is Jihoon.

 

2.

The resigned peace Jihoon had found inside himself feels, suddenly, empty. inadequate. 

Nothing has changed, and Jihoon has accepted it. 

Nothing has changed, except December has crept so close that Jihoon doesn’t notice he’s standing in front of a cliff, at dusk, with the stage lights rapidly fading in the horizon. And Jihoon is still fucking in love with this life and every ache it sinks into his body, and he’s still fucking in love with Woojin and every scar he carves into his heart.

Nothing has changed, and he’s about to lose both. 

 

3.

“This is ridiculous,” he says right before the very last step that will take him outside their building. 

Woojin stops behind him, so close Jihoon can feel the soft shuffle of his coat as if he himself is wrapped in the warmth of it. “What’s ridiculous?” Woojin asks, but Jihoon hadn’t meant to be so candid in the first place, so he presses his lips together and shakes his head.

It’s ridiculous that they’re standing on the verge of an uncertain future. It’s ridiculous that it seems so easy, so natural for all of them to be here. That there’s a trembling kind of excitement that none of them can hide. It’s ridiculous that Jihoon can’t wait to take this final step, even if it’ll also take him that much farther from Woojin. 

He’s terrified, but he isn’t. 

He’s not ready, but he is. 

They’ve said their goodbyes, and it’s time. 


	5. 2park, longevity beads

"It’s not your time, Woojin-ah,” Jihoon whispers as he kneels by Woojin’s bedside. He rubs the string around his neck between his fingers, eyes hooded, and it’s all the wrong kinds of thoughtfulness that Woojin never wanted to see on his face. 

Woojin curses the weakness of his body, the mist clouding his mind, because he can’t even curl his fingers into his palm. Instead he’s forced to watch as Jihoon carefully pulls the necklace over his head, untangles the knotted leather, and slips off the last bead containing his remaining lifetime. 

He doesn’t want it. He’s dying and miserable, but he would rather live the few days he has on this bed than live out the rest of Jihoon’s years without him. 

But what can he do, with this fool body that can only lay limp on moth-eaten sheets? He’s too tired to speak, to shed tears, and the only thing left is to listen as Jihoon kisses, “Please don’t hate me,” and “I want you to live,” into his hair, to accept the bead that Jihoon presses insistently into his hand, to wait until it sinks into his skin. 

To lay unmoving while Jihoon fades away.


	6. 2park, royalty

“The prince is missing!“ 

"The prince is _what_?" 

Woojin sighs from where he’s spying on the chaos through an inconspicuous hole in the stone wall. The weight of the sword on his belt reminds him that this is probably not one of his smarter ideas, in fact there was no thinking involved at all. The prince is very pretty and very convincing when he wants to be, but the thing is, he doesn’t need to do very much to convince Woojin. It’s been that way since Woojin first entered the castle tucked under his father’s arm, when he was presented before the King and was subsequently bestowed with the young prince’s beaming smile. 

It rapidly became his undoing, but Woojin can’t regret a thing. Not when he can have these moments with Jihoon, in hidden rooms of the castle; these moments when he can have that smile for himself. 

"So?” Jihoon grins up at him, and it shines even in the dark space they’ve found themselves in. He looks almost cat-like in his satisfaction, and Woojin can’t stop his hand before it’s in the other’s hair, stroking with gentle fingers. Jihoon pauses, and then like the first blossoms of spring, the sharpness of his grin softens. “We should be able to sneak out the same path as last week’s. You with me?" 

Woojin pulls his hand away, laughing at the disappointed moue of Jihoon’s lips. He pinches a glowing cheek. "Where else would I be?”


	7. 2park, royalty

__It’s on a day where all of Jihoon’s worries threaten to spill out of the cup in his hands, brimming with the troubles of his father, the King, and toils of his people, that his godmother appears before him to ask, “What is it that you want the most?”

“What I want most?” Jihoon echoes, bemused. Thoughts of sneaking out of the palace walls, discovering a life without the burden of an entire kingdom on his shoulders, fill his head. 

Can he have that? 

Can he ask for it? 

He wonders where he will find his place in that world where his wish comes true. And where will Woojin be? Out there by Jihoon’s side as they build the foundations of a life together? 

But Woojin can’t do that, can he? He has a family he needs to support, and it would kill him to cut off any contact with them. _‘Don’t pull him into your selfishness,’_ Jihoon admonishes himself. But escaping and never seeing Woojin again isn’t something that he wants either. 

“Just one day of freedom,” he says finally. One day to not think of his upcoming marriage. One day where no person or duty can get between him and Woojin. 

“That’s all you want?“ 

Jihoon holds in the no that almost escapes him. "Yes, that’s all I want.”


	8. 2park, road trip

“Were you doing anything today?“ 

Jihoon stares at Woojin with undisguised disbelief. They’ve been in the car for a while, nearly an hour, in complete silence up to this point. “Really. _Really._ You snatched me outside my apartment, pushed me into this… this car— whose car is this? It can’t possibly be yours!" 

"I borrowed it.” Woojin flashes his disgustingly endearing grin like that somehow makes his heinous act of kidnapping okay. “So?" 

"So?! So yes! I did have plans!” Jihoon slumps to the window huffily, eyes narrowing at the road signs. “Not like it matters, since I obviously can’t go to them anymore. Where the fuck are we going anyway?" 

Woojin hums noncommittally. "Who did you have plans with?" 

"Seongwoo hyung." 

"You’re lying,” Woojin sings cheekily. “Those aren’t your meeting-people clothes." 

Not his _what_?

Jihoon stares down at his attire, and yeah, he really had only been planning to buy snacks for his day-long gaming, but Woojin couldn’t have known that. What’s wrong with these clothes anyway? 

"Nothing’s wrong with them." He pauses. "You look as cute as you always do.”

Giving up his own outfit as a lost cause, Jihoon scrutinizes Woojin’s sweater (black, typical), jeans (also dark) and various silver accessories. “And you look like you’re about to go hunting creatures of the night. As you always do." 

Woojin laughs. "I don’t need to, do I? Already got my prey right where I want him." 

"Buckled to your passenger seat in my not-meeting-people clothes?” He gets a wink in return. “I don’t know what that means." 

"It means,” Woojin says, veering the car into an exit heading who-knows-where, “that you’re in for a ride.”


	9. 2park, all the beauty that remains: before

A light, chilly breeze ruffles his hair. Jihoon sniffles and rubs at his cheeks with sleeve-covered hands, shivering a little. Spring has barely started and it’s a cold day outside, but this is one of the rare times he has a lengthy break between classes and he wants to make the most of it. 

As another, stronger gust blows past him, Jihoon brings his knees up on the bench and tries to keep warm that way. He entertains the thought of finding an indoor spot, and quickly shoots it down. It may be cold, but that only means there’s less people to bother him outside. 

_‘He should be here soon,’_ he thinks, wiggling his toes inside his shoes. 

“Hey, sorry, did you wait long?“ 

Jihoon lifts his head up with a grin. "Woojin-ah!” he greets, patting at the space beside him eagerly. “Sit, sit!" 

Woojin complies, letting Jihoon huddle close to his side and wraps an arm around his shoulders. A worried frown crosses his face when Jihoon shivers a bit more violently against him, his hand automatically rubbing down Jihoon’s arm. "You should’ve waited inside,” he scolds. 

“I was comfy,” says Jihoon. “And I wasn’t out here that long." 

"Still, I don’t want you to get sick because of me." 

He scoffs. "Don’t think too highly of yourself, Park Woojin, I would’ve been sitting here with or without you." The arm around Jihoon pulls him in closer, and he feels Woojin laugh against his ear, soft and warm.

"But with me is better, right?" 

It’s cold, and he’s tired, but Jihoon hasn’t felt this content in weeks. He turns his head and lands a brief kiss on Woojin’s jaw. "Yeah. Lots better.”


	10. 2park, au pre-relationship

Woojin opens his front door at midnight, takes one look outside, and shuts the door. _‘Am I dreaming?’_ runs through his mind, and he decides the best way to answer that is to pull the door back open and check again.

Outside, Jihoon is glaring at him with wide, betrayed eyes, wet hair stuck to his forehead. “Why did you shut the door in my face?”

“I thought I was dreaming.”

“Why would you dream about me knocking on your door at midnight?”

Woojin has several answers for that, but none that won’t potentially get him punched in the face. “I, uh… you know what? I’ll go get you some towels. Stay there.” He holds up a hand in warning and shuffles into his room quickly to hunt down a couple of fresh towels. “Don’t come in, you’ll drip all over the floor!”

It takes him a minute to make it back to Jihoon, who now looks less than impressed. “Thanks,” says Jihoon, draping one towel over his shoulders and bowing to accept the other one Woojin drops on his head. “No, it’s fine,” he drawls when Woojin starts drying his hair for him. “Just leave it. I wouldn’t want to interrupt your alone time with your precious floor.”

“With my bed, actually.” Woojin can’t see Jihoon’s face but he gets the feeling that Jihoon is rolling his eyes. The tiny, sardonic, “hah!” is kind of a giveaway. “Look, I’m not the one barging into someone else’s house at weird hours.”

“You say 'barging in’ and yet I’m still outside your door. Drenched.” Jihoon pulls away, hair fluffed up and cheeks all flushed. He tilts his head up and gazes at Woojin expectantly, and if Woojin is going to be honest with himself, he kind of really wants to lean down and kiss him. “So… aren’t you going to invite me in?”

Well, fuck.


	11. 2park, canon compliant

On one hand, it seems like Woojin needs to be more aware of his face. His expressions, that is, when he’s doing things he’d previously been unaware of doing with any frequency.

Apparently, Woojin has been staring at Jihoon a lot or something, but that hasn’t been a problem before now. Jihoon isn’t even doing anything special. He’s just sitting there on the floor of the living room, biting on the end of his pen as he tries to solve a math worksheet. Sometime during the night, Woojin had found himself sitting beside him, helping where he can, focusing on his own homework when he’s more harm than help. And now he’s staring.

He eyes the wisps of blond hair falling over Jihoon’s face when he starts scribbling down the solution—legible enough, but his teacher probably doesn’t give points for that. _‘Shame,’_ Woojin thinks, too fascinated by Jihoon’s hand curled around the pen. If he reaches over, if he slips his hand around Jihoon’s, pen falling on the table as Jihoon blinks away the haze of two hours of schoolwork…

Woojin digs his nails into his palm and exhales with deliberate slowness.

Jihoon puts down his pen, interlinks his fingers behind him, and stretches out the stiffness that had built up from being in the same position for so long. When that’s done, he swipes an arm over his eyes, and then he looks up at Woojin (finally) with a smile that Woojin can’t stop himself from returning.

He helps Jihoon gather up his worksheets ( _okay_ , he only hands him the one sheet that had strayed to the far end of the coffee table), still grinning. There’s something almost domestic about the two of them clearing up the coffee table together; and perhaps two boys doing something resembling a house chore isn’t a novelty, but this is Jihoon, and somehow every experience with him has become special and precious to Woojin.

Jihoon glances at Woojin gratefully, then back to the papers in his hand. Then he pauses. Looks back up at Woojin’s face with wide, wondering eyes, and says, “Oh.”

Woojin stares at him with growing confusion. “Oh?”

“Oh, uh…” Jihoon shakes his head and quickly pushes himself to his feet. “It’s nothing. Thanks for the help, Woojin-ah.” At that, he scurries off back to their 5-person room, leaving Woojin alone in the living room, with Daehwi giving him a pitying gaze from the kitchen.

“What did I do?”

Daehwi sighs. “Have you ever thought about what your face looks like when you’re staring at Jihoon-hyung?”

“Not particularly?”

“Maybe you should.”


	12. 2park, proposal

It’s not, in any way, a normal morning for them. For one thing, Jihoon doesn’t usually get nudged awake in the dead of night, doesn’t usually open his eyes to see the polyester roof of a tent, doesn’t usually have someone persistently hauling him to a sitting position so he would “get up already! We’re going to miss the sunrise!”

Jihoon blinks blearily at Woojin, not entirely convinced that he’d really agreed to camping overnight in the middle of nowhere with the other. Eventually, memories of two weeks’ worth of planning and last night’s promise of watching the sunrise together filter back into his mind, and soon enough Woojin is leading the way to what the internet claims to be a good vantage point.

The place they arrived at is quiet, save for the rustling of thin branches. The only light they have is Woojin’s flashlight, which is quickly turned off as soon as they settle themselves some distance from the fenced-off cliff edge. It’s a little creepy, being out here in the dark, but having Woojin radiating warmth beside him is reassuring.

The horizon starts to lighten, and they stand up to meet the sight. It’s like each passing second adds to the weight that pulls the sun upwards into the sky. Higher, ever higher, until its rays touch the treetops below them, revealing everything the night had kept hidden. It’s a sight that leaves him breathless, a moment filled with too much beauty and wonder for only one person to bear, and he’s so utterly happy that he has Woojin to share it with.

The sun climbs up at a steady pace, and Jihoon feels his lungs loosen. He turns to Woojin, brimming with gratitude, with love, and finds the other already looking at him with a smile that’s softer. More tentative.

Woojin takes Jihoon’s hand in his and intertwines their fingers before, inexplicably, facing the cliff edge. Jihoon can feel him bracing himself for something, can see his chest expanding as he takes a deep breath. Woojin shouts, “JIHOON-AH, MARRY ME!”

Jihoon gasps. “What?” His jaw hangs open, even as Woojin swings towards him with his snaggletooth grin, wide and bright, yet tight and unmistakeably nervous.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t hear it. I shouted it loud and clear.”

“I heard it,” he says faintly. “I just can’t believe it happened.”

“It happened,” confirms Woojin.

“But—” Jihoon clings onto Woojin’s hand tight. “Woojin, we’re _minors_. And we can’t get married here!”

“I can wait. And of course we’re not going to get married on the mountains. Can you imagine getting our parents to climb this high?”

“I… I’m not talking about the mountains! I’m talking about…!” Jihoon gestures wildly at their surroundings and hopes Woojin understands it to mean the entirety of South Korea. “We can’t!”

But Woojin only purses his lips and catches Jihoon’s other arm in the air, bringing both of their clasped hands between their chests. He steps closer and meets Jihoon’s gaze evenly. “It’s okay,” Woojin says, calmer than Jihoon feels. Probably calmer than he himself feels, from how clammy his hands are around Jihoon’s. “We’ll find a way. I don’t care how long it takes us, or if we have to run away to another country. If those are your only objections…?”

“I might have a few more,” Jihoon admits, half sincerely, half just to be contrary.

As usual, Woojin sees right through him. He laughs, amused. “Okay?”

“But I guess you can take this as a tentative yes.”


	13. 2park, star trek

“Don’t touch that!”

Jihoon snatches his hand away from the alien plant, one of the native vegetation that the science team are currently studying on the new planet. Trailing after the movement, the bud snaps open, it’s cavernous mouth lined with needles emerging from the fleshy insides. It whips forward and gnashes down with ferocious speed, barely missing the ends of Jihoon’s fingers. “Whoa!”

His hand is seized in an unyielding grip, not giving an inch even when Jihoon recoils rather violently. “What are you doing?” Jihoon demands.

“It didn’t get you, did it?” Woojin doesn’t spare him a glance, inspecting every inch of visible skin for scratches. “There’s a powerful venom coating its the teeth. You wouldn’t like what even a tiny pinprick can do to your pretty face.”

Jihoon tries again to recover the use of his limb, but only succeeds when it becomes clear there’s nothing amiss. Clenching and unclenching his hand just to be sure, he mumbles, “Witness my superior reflexes, Ensign.”

“Damn it, Jihoon—” Woojin throws a furtive  look behind him, where the remaining members of the away team are wandering within earshot. “Lieutenant,” he corrects himself. “Sir.”

Jihoon chuckles, rising to his feet. “Cursing at me, Ensign?”

Woojin stands next to him, much closer than he needs to be, drawn into maintaining contact. “I wouldn’t have to if you could just be careful.”

“I am a paragon of safety.”

“And I’m a paragon of someone trying not to punch you in the face, sir.”

That startles a laugh out of Jihoon, and he allows the loose clasp on his wrist leading him to a safe distance from the plants.


	14. 2park, runaway royalty

this is the first time jihoon sees woojin cry, after laughing so hard he has to grasp jihoon’s shoulder and waist for balance, embracing him fully until jihoon is supporting most of his weight. his chest heaves against jihoon’s, still breathless, and then the desperate gasps for air turn into small uneven hitches. "jihoon,“ woojin sobs. 

the stench of alcohol is unbearable, but jihoon stays close, stays in the tight circle of woojin’s arms. he ignores the spreading dampness on his shoulder and holds on just as hard. 

"jihoon, i can’t marry anyone else. my— my whole future is you. my whole life was supposed to be spent with you.  _you_ , jihoon.” woojin is pulling him in and jihoon doesn’t fight it, lets woojin take the closeness that he needs. “i thought we were the same but, but why is it so easy for you?" 

it’s not easy.  _it’s not easy at all._  

he can remain here in this cabin, keep living the simple life they’ve both grown to adore; but they will find him, they will find woojin, and that path ends with the both of them dying for nothing. "i have to protect you,” he insists, fervent. “you have to be safe, woojin. i can live with this." 

woojin pulls back, eyes wide and bright with the fire that jihoon loves. he doesn’t argue anymore even though it’s clear that he has more to say, just slips a hand to jihoon’s nape and crashes their lips together. 

the pain shouldn’t feel as final as it does. 

- 

jihoon feels a gentle press on his forehead later in the night, hears the words, "wait for me. i’ll come for you, jihoon.” he curls his fingers against woojin’s chest, and the steady pounding of his heart feels like a promise. 

woojin covers jihoon’s hand with his own. “when that time comes,” he says, “let me protect you. please.” 


	15. 2park, far future

Forty years from the time they first met, Woojin hauls his fishing gear to what had lately become their “usual lake”. Jihoon totters along behind him, somehow stepping on every single creaky plank, a litany of muted complaints spilling from his lips in wisps of white. They hunker down at the end of the pier, setting down bags and unfolding the new-fangled chairs Woojin's son had given him last December.

“Chair's too low,” Jihoon adds to his list of things that could be better. It's surprisingly short—about the length of an hour and a half-drive; though from four decades of first-hand experience, Woojin can vouch for Jihoon's ability to fill that much time up with chatter when it's just the two of them.

“It's the chair or the pier.” As far as ultimatums go, that one's relatively inconsequential. Woojin looks like he’s about to dump live bait onto Jihoon's chair to add a bit more drama, but Jihoon plops himself down huffily before he can get into it.

“You're thirty years too late to be scaring me with a worm, you decrepit fossil,” Jihoon grumbles. “Mark my words, I'll be bringing crickets as bait next year. We'll see who's laughing then.”

Woojin ignores the stink-eye thrown his way. “Bah, you said that last year. And the year before that.” He rolls his right shoulder and alternates stomping his legs, still a bit stiff from the drive. “We've pretty much made a tradition of not bringing crickets. Why ruin a good thing?”

“That does _not_ count as a tradition. Skewer your damned worm and let's start this pointless battle.”

“You only call it pointless because you lose every year,” Woojin argues smugly. Even so, he lowers himself onto the chair and rigs his line.

The mist starts to lift with every inch of sunlight streaming into the lake, pale beams warming up their bones slowly. The peace that settles over them like a blanket is pierced only by lilting chirps from the trees and soft splashes of something breaking through the lake surface before diving back under. Light catches on Woojin’s greying hair as he reaches down to scratch an itch on his shin, and when Woojin sits back up, he only just catches a dark blue bonnet tossed his way. He stares at it, bemused.

“For your bald spot,” Jihoon explains, the smile lines around his mouth growing more and more prominent.

Woojin sputters in indignation, but the early morning chill drives him to pulling on the bonnet down to his ears instead of throwing it (and Jihoon) into the lake. “Bald spot my ass,” he mutters and pays twice the attention to his still line.

Two hours later, with ten carps between them and Woojin decidedly in the lead, Jihoon once again scoffs at the pointlessness of fishing battles. Woojin only shakes his head mockingly in response, jeering, “Is that the annual sore loser ceremonial speech I’m hearing?”

“I’m sick of losing.”

“It only took you, what, thirty years?”

“Forty if you count coming in second that one time,” says Jihoon.

Woojin snorts. “Placing second to the likes of Kang Daniel is hardly losing.”

Jihoon shrugs. He pulls up his suspiciously idle line and curses at the missing bait. As he hooks another worm, riding out Woojin’s ever obnoxious cackling, Jihoon can’t help but wonder at the two of them, long past the age when they could’ve been considered spring chickens. They’re just two old geezers now. One with a firm foothold in the film industry, fallen so hard into the trappings of a celebrity romance that he’d stumbled out of it with a high-profile divorce; the other with a small restaurant, a wife, and several kids-turned-adults after having limped away from the entertainment business with an injury.

“Forty years,” Jihoon whispers, the faintest memory of a hundred and one seats grazing the edges of his mind.

“That’s a long time, isn’t it?” The same amazement the Jihoon feels is reflected on Woojin’s face, slipping into his words. “It felt a lot faster.”

“It did.”

They settle back into the serenity that the lake practically imposes upon them, each falling into his own thoughts.

This time, it’s Woojin that breaks the silence. “You didn’t hear this from me, but I’m glad we’re both here now.”

Jihoon barks out a laugh and raises his fishing rod in lieu of a salute. “Well, it’s a year early but... to senior citizens.”

“To senior citizens,” echoes Woojin. “May Jisung-hyung outlive us all.”

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think in a comment!


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